King, Country, and All of That…
by NerdyxFlavoredxAwesome
Summary: Wherein Arthur is still a prince, Gwen is still a maidservant, and the story isn't about either of them. This is a tongue in cheek story about Sir Leon venturing through the woods in hopes of meeting Camelot's next monstrous threat.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own 'Merlin' or any characters therein.

The chapter titles are references to various things that I also do not own.

I do own this mug that I'm drinking out of and the computer that I'm typing on. It's a nice mug.

Author Note: Reader, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Cheers!

**Chapter 1: Take a Break!**

Leon readjusted the bandage around his head before giving his report to Prince Arthur.

"And so you see sire," said Leon rubbing the bridge of his nose with a wrapped hand, "the capes seem to be of the _one_ color that completely infuriates them." The cockatrices seemed almost friendly before they saw the capes, padding around on their little feet and gnawing at some fallen timber. Sure, Leon would never have claimed that they were sweet enough to be house pets, but wasn't there something peaceful and majestic about animals in nature? Evidentially not, the universe seemed to say, for as soon as the first cockatrice glanced his cape, all tranquility—imagined or existing—dissolved into a frenzy of teeth and swords. A shiver rippled up Leon's spine at the recollection. He could almost feel the creature's hot breath misting over him.

He cleared his throat and waited for the prince to speak. Arthur's eyes scanned the party understanding for the first time the state of their dress. The knights huddled near the back wall of the throne room. None stood upright, as was expected of men of their caliber, though the torn pant legs and crude bandages gave ample explanation as to why. Chainmail flopped pathetically over stomachs—belts seemingly snapped, ripped or lost somewhere between Balor and Camelot. Snatches of cape hung limply from their shoulders. Leon, who had come away with his cape muddied and ripped full in half, actually had more cape to show than his fellows.

Leon had lamented the fate of his faithful cape, but the lament was brief. When one's sword arm is largely down the gullet of a beast, a ruined cape is a comparatively small problem. True, it had seen many good battles on his shoulders, but Leon liked to believe that, unlike the horde of angry, biting, viciously evil, and in no way peaceful or majestic cockatrices, his cape was in a better place. Leon was exhausted. Whether that was due to the minor concussion he'd attained, or the fact that he'd been up for the last twenty-six continuous hours, he could not say. All he knew was that he completed his mission. Leon and his men saw to it that the messenger from Ajacentsburg was delivered back to his kingdom. Yes, the messenger had been wounded, and yes, the injury may have been preventable, but arguably a broken arm was better than being eaten alive by an oversized hell-lizard. Plus the messenger had been annoyingly whiny and wore too much perfume. In any case, Leon had done his duty and now wanted nothing more than the tender embrace of his blankets.

"Did we loose any knights?" Arthur asked.

"Thankfully no, sire. Though Sirs Meloncamp, Birmington, Cranford, and Reese were severely wounded and are currently being treated by Gaius." Leon found himself saying the words mechanically, staring at a brick behind Arthur's head and struggling to stay conscious.

"Sir Leon?"

"Yes, sire?" asked Leon breaking his intense, brick-focused gaze. Arthur looked at the knight with incredulous concern, but said nothing. He instead addressed the party at large.

"Knights of Camelot, once again you have proven yourselves exceedingly brave and able. My father and the Lord Namington give their thanks," said the prince sounding, to Leon's ears, very like his king father. The knights bowed and shambled out the door of the Great Hall, most limping or clutching one another's shoulders for support. Leon was at the tail end of the pack. Just as he reached the doors, thoughts of sleep already swimming through his dazed mind, Arthur stopped him.

"Leon, take some time off," said the prince pulling off his circlet crown as if to say, 'Leon I speak to you now as a brother not a prince'.

"Did you hear me?" he asked when Leon answered him with silence. Arthur placed the crown back on his head—'nevermind, I speak to you with the iron fist of my father' the action seemed to say.

"Y-Yes, yes m'lord but…what…" Leon started, completely taken aback by the prince's statement. "Have I done something wrong?" he asked humbly.

Arthur gave a small snort of laughter. "Of course not," he answered sauntering over to Leon. He rested a princely hand on the knight's shoulder.

"You have always served me loyally, Leon, but when was the last time you took a break?" Leon gave a look of confusion, and before he could formulate an answer Arthur insisted that he 'take a few days to relax'.

"Camelot will not fall in a week," Arthur assured him as he walked Leon to the door. The knight was halfway down the hall before his mind finally processed exactly what happened.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Inner Machinations of Leon's Mind (are an Enigma)**

To say that Leon didn't know what to do with himself when he wasn't on guard was describing dragon fire as 'a bit warm'. After he'd slept, bathed, polished his armor, sharpened his sword, checked on his men, checked on his horse, eaten, checked the on his men again, walked around the castle, and checked on his men a third time, he was at a complete loss of what to do for the succeeding hours. Arthur insisted that Leon not attend council meetings as well as stay off the parapets. Leon sighed. He could go to the tavern, although he wasn't really one to drink, let alone for the purpose of getting drunk. Plus it was only one in the afternoon and who was he, Gwaine? He could visit Geoffrey in library, but Geoffrey always seemed to be busy. The same was true of the nobility, and the servants, and, assumedly the other knights as well. The same should have been true of him, he thought, and sighed again.

After tidying his room and rereading his favorite passage of 'A Good Knight's Guide to Battle' he decided to leave Camelot altogether and take a walk. He started to leave in only a blouse and jerkin, but then decided to don a full suit of mail. He didn't know why exactly, he just didn't feel right leaving the city without it. Besides, he thought, who knew what matter of wicked, bloodthirsty, and or evil thing he might chance upon in the forest. A light smile crept over his lips as he buckled his sword-belt. He felt slightly underdressed without his cape, but until Gwen could help him with a replacement he would have to make due.

He opted to leave his noble steed behind and headed over the cobbles and thru the courtyard. He squinted enviously up at the guards working gates as he passed beneath the portcullis. Leon wished he were working. He kicked up pebbles and dust the entire way until he hit the forest. With the wall of trees the smells and sounds of Camelot seemed to vanish completely. No longer could he smell cook fires, or people or the various breeds of cattle being traded; the clink of hammers on metal, the shouts of merchants and the general buzz of life, all seemed to die out. Nature was quiet, mysterious.

He stepped over large fallen branch. _I wonder what knocked this down._ His mind fumbled with half-hearted explanations for the leafy obstruction as he walked. Leon couldn't help but think that maybe there was some terrible beast there in the woods beyond Camelot. And maybe…just maybe, this _evil _beast—because what kind of non-evil thing tears apart trees—was on its way to Camelot. Then, by extension, _if _said evil beast were to attack Camelot, why then he would have to quit his holiday earlier. It would be ever so dreadful, but Leon would take the blow for Camelot…king and country and all that. _Yes… _Maybe he would take a quick, perfectly safe walk deeper through into the forest. He sincerely hoped that no magical creatures would find offence in his being there and thereby threaten Camelot.

His gut tickled in anticipation with every step, yet nothing seemed to happen. He walked for an hour, then another. Still nothing. After three hours, or there about, there came a rustle from the branches. He readied his sword, prepared for whatever group of highwaymen or no good magical miscreant he had happened upon. He flicked his head back bouncing his honey curls out of his face for full, unobstructed vision. Leon was practically bouncing from foot to foot with giddiness. He was a hungry wolf salivating for the taste of his prey…

To his dismay, it was only a deer.

And thus was set the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Oh, honestly!" he screamed into the wood, "Do you know how many times I've been in these woods on patrol? Never once, _never…once_," he shouted with extra emphasis, "have I _ever_ made it through these woods unscathed! Something is out there! I know it! Cockatrices?" He paused as though awaiting an answer or some conveniently timed rustling of leaves. Yet, not a sound disrupted the harmony of the peaceful wood. "No? Really? Not a single griffin, troll, fairy, or winged-jaguar wants to pick a fight with Camelot today? I'll take people: sorcerers, another army of the undead, neighboring kingdoms with farfetched outdated vendettas against Prince Arthur. Anyone?" He kicked at the earth. "I suppose you're on holiday too, Morgana!?"

Leon aimed an incomprehensible roar at the sky. He drove the point of his sword deep into the earth with frustration and sank into a cross-legged sit. The sword seemed to stare at him. He gazed back at it. He looked passed the beams of sunlight gleaming off the metal, beyond the rainbow of greens reflected on its surface, his view was caught on a point further than the metal itself. There on that invisible spot, yawning in the depth of his mind, Leon's gaze was fixed, and from this innermost spot came a question: what would he be, if not a knight?

How earthshattering! How unthinkable! How utterly horrifying! And yet there it was. Who was he if not a knight of Camelot? Leon pondered.

His initial conclusion was that there would never be a reason for him to pursue an alternate profession; that he _was_ a knight, had always _been_ a knight and would forever more _be _a knight. "But what if you lose a hand?" the sword seemed to ask.

"Then there is always the other!" he reasoned, "and handless though it may be that arm could bear a shield."

"What if it's your sword hand?"

Leon didn't quite understand the question.

"What if it's your leg that's struck?"

"…well in an honest man's fight," Leon began.

"What if it's both your legs? What if you're thrown off a cliff whereupon your back shatters in millions of pieces?" the sword insisted.

With the realization that the necessity of seeking a new occupation was indeed a possibility, however remote, Leon turned his attention to what kind of work he could do in the event that he absolutely had to.

He was good at leading. Yet, what would he have need to lead if not a party of knights? The king led the common people, and animals didn't take to human leaders. He thought back to the nest of bluebirds he'd found as a child. His hand touched the scar behind his right ear mechanically. There were sheep he supposed, though that wouldn't be leading as much as herding. He could herd sheep…what were the necessary qualifications of that? Wait, wait what was he saying? He didn't even like sheep and beside that, shepherd's attire did him absolutely no favors.

He started over. He was good at following orders he supposed. However, his heart only allowed him to follow the words of a just, noble, honest man…(and even Uther gave questionable orders). Plus, after following the words of a king, Leon didn't know that he could take the words of someone lower on the social scale.

He let his mind restart a second time. His skill with a sword was impressive. He could teach sword craft. He sat on that a moment. _What folly!_ If he could handle a sword for the purposes of teaching the craft, then he could be a knight, his brain insisted.

He could ride. Yet what use was that? What would he be, an ornament atop a plow horse? An errand boy? No…and not again.

He was relatively good with heraldry. Perhaps he could aid Geoffrey in the library. "And be staring out the windows into the training yard until I got the urge to jump," Leon thought. "Mercy, what am I good at?"

Leading, riding, sword fighting, he counted on his fingers.

There had to be something else… His tutor had once told him that he was a great pupil because he listened with such attention.

"I could be a professional listener," Leon thought hysterically. He shook his head to ward off the thought. The color was fading from the sky and he felt his grip on sanity slipping. He stood, yanked his sword from the ground, and returned it to its place on his belt. The belt was new; he'd lost his previous one in the escapade with the cockatrice. The leather was shiny and stiff and his usual knot didn't hold. He set upon it with a sailor's knot.

It donned on him then that he knew several knots. When he was a boy he'd ridden along the beach with his cousin and chanced upon a beached craft. The crew was scuttling about in an attempt to remedy their crisis. Epic tale told in a stanza, Leon and his cousin, Mel, befriend a sailor affectionately known as 'Biscuit' who taught them all matter of knots before his ship was repaired and he returned to the sea. Leon supposed that he could be fit to work aboard a ship. The air was fresh and adventure could be ample, he supposed. But if he didn't have hands….

The vivid image of himself wedged in the corner of a tiny vessel suddenly lit his mind's eye. His blonde beard had grown wild, sheltering a nest of bones and oddities in its unkempt curls. He wore a mishmash of ill-fitting clothes that peaked out from what looked oddly like a shepherd's rope. He was tying knots in an enormous rope simultaneously with his feet and his teeth. It was ghastly. Awaking from this horrible fancy Leon snatched up his sword and as good as ran for the sheltering walls of Camelot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Kill it! Kill it with Fire!**

When he reached the city, he found the gates already barred. He cried for the gatemen, but no one answered. Looking to the sky, Leon ascertained that it could be no later than eight in the evening and to his knowledge there was no reason the gates should be locked up this early. He waited a moment before pelting the gate with a round of heavy fisted knocks. Leon silently thanked the heavens for his hands. Still he received no answer. The torches were lit—someone was standing by.

"Gatemen, this is Sir Leon—knight of Camelot," he hated pulling rank, but if the times called for it, "Gatemen!"

"Sir Leon?" came a cockney voice. The helmeted head of a gateman appeared briefly on the parapet before disappearing again. A moment later the portcullis lifted and the gates creaked open. Leon was greeted by a quartet of guards whose individual heights descended humorously from man to man.

"Sir Leon," spoke the shortest man, "there's been an attack! A guard was sent to retrieve you, your presence is required immediately."

Leon dug his heels into the ground to keep from jumping for joy, all thoughts of his forest adventure long forgotten.

"An attack you say," he began with a steady voice. "Where am I to go?" he asked already edging in the direction of the castle.

"Go straight to the castle," said the tallest one.

"Take the horse," said the second shortest man.

"Godspeed," said the last.

Leon mounted the horse like the knight he was, chuckled briefly at the at the height disparity amongst the strange guards, and rode hard for the castle. His mind was a veritable stew of ideas and conjured shapes. What matter of man or beast could be terrorizing Camelot today? It must be large and fearsome. They were always large and fearsome. Plus, the inhabitants of Camelot were attacked with such frequency that most had taken on iron-skins and could no longer be easily moved to fear. Yet he'd seen with his own eyes how the gates were drawn shut and the portcullis locked. Clearly, this would be a fearsome beast. Leon's heart thumped with excitement.

He wondered if he should return to the armory for additional arms. Then again he really hadn't the slightest clue what kind of crazed, one hundred year old sorcerer, or naked mole rat like creature he'd face. Sometimes it seemed that all it took was a quick wave of a torch. If Leon had learned anything during his time as a knight it was that: in a fight with a monster, the man holding the fire won. Even if the flame didn't buy a complete victory, it always seemed to buy time for an unpredictable, coincidental, and impressively well-timed solution. It was almost like magic. Leon laughed knowingly—the only magic ever present in Camelot was hell-bent on destroying it. "Magic," he laughed again.

When he reached the castle, he found it locked up tighter than Sir Lancelot's sense of humor. Today though, Leon's name seemed to carry special weight, for as soon as he announced himself, the castle's gates too swung open.

"Oh thank heavens!" said Sir Cranford rushing toward him. His gauntlets clanged as they met the mail of Leon's shoulders. Around them, the courtyard bore the deserted aftermath of what had surely been Camelot's attacker. Barrels were strewn about in various states of wholeness. Grain, bits of what had been a cabbage cart, cloth, and parts of various other day-to-day objects littered the cobblestone. Leon spotted a few burnt out torches.

"So they'd already tried the fire," Leon thought.

"Leon!" thundered a voice from behind him. Leon turned to find the rugged countenance of another familiar knight.

"Gwaine! Exactly what—"

"Someone fetch this man some armor," Gwaine interrupted. Leon looked at his chest a little confused: he was already wearing mail. Gwaine placed one hand on Leon's back and the other on Sir Cranford's. "Let's move to shelter shall we gentlemen," he said and gave the two a nudge. Safely under the lip of an overhang Leon began his questioning anew.

"Gwaine, what-"

"Glad you brought a sword," Gwaine said tapping Leon's sword with his own. "You'll be needing that."

"I imagine so, now what exactly are we fighting?" Just then a ghastly screech ripped through the air. It sounded something like a pair of dueling cats, or an angry baby, or a goat after you've snuck up on it covered in furs and growling because it was knight training and the other knights bet you wouldn't do it.

"That," said Gwaine motioning his sword to the sky.

As the beast flew into view, Leon couldn't help but be reminded of a creature Arthur had once invented whilst lying to his father. This beast was a macabre nightmare. Its thick body was wrapped in a rough, furless, gray hide. A large fin-like horn jutted from the center of its head. Two beady, black globes stared out from either side of the horn. Its two front legs bore feet like those of a rooster—sharp talons opened and closed daring anyone to approach it. Its posterior end sported not legs, but a tail like that off a giant beaver. To finish off this hodgepodge disaster of a thing were two, great, leathery wings—like those of a bat. Leon's jaw hung slack.

"Right, so, we've already tried fire," Gwaine said. Leon only managed to gurgle in reply.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: And There Was Much Rejoicing**

King Uther, Arthur said, was sure that this creature was a product of sorcery. This, hypothesis necessitated a visit with Gaius, so Leon and Gwaine withdrew slashing overhead with flailing arms as they retreated from the courtyard and followed their prince. The three of them jogged to through the castle to the old man's room. When they arrived at the Gaius's door, they found it already ajar. The two knights and the prince filed in. Gaius was bent over a large book that seemed to be perpetually dusty albeit its frequent use. As Arthur and company piled into the space behind him, the healer flipped to a page bearing the colorful illustration of the very monster that was outside terrorizing the city.

"Ah…it's as I thought," muttered Gaius cryptically. "We are in grave danger. This a Plotdevicius, a rare creature born of magic." Arthur and Gwaine gasped.

"I should have believed you, Merlin," said Arthur pulling Merlin aside.

"The bestiary says that the Plotdeviceius can be banished from the realms of man, with this elixir that Merlin and I just happen to have been working on," said Gaius his hand moving over a table cluttered with bottles of varying heights and shapes. Before long he produced a small bottle glimmering with bright orange elixir. Leon couldn't help but wonder what exactly was in all these bottles and why neither Gaius nor Merlin seemed to find the time to organize or label them in a more practical fashion. He made a mental note to ask Merlin later.

Coming out of his revelry, he noticed Merlin and Arthur exchanging that glance of theirs. The same glance they'd always exchange at this interval of the adventure, the one that wordlessly conveyed their deep bonds of platonic friendship. Arthur squeezed Merlin's shoulder, his features puckering into that "I think I learned something here today" face, though what heart-melting wisdom Arthur had attained was left for Leon to guess.

"How does this elixir work? Can we just toss it at the whatsitsname, or does it have to drink it, or what exactly," Gwaine asked tracing his finger along the edges of the picture, the gears in his head clinking almost audibly.

"The elixir must coat its eyes," said Gaius, his gaze taking on a dire shadow and locking onto Merlin's face. Merlin nodded almost imperceptibly. Leon didn't ask questions because he knew that everything would be explained to him when the time was right. Instead he stood by silently, imitating the serious, unhappy demeanor that was reflected all around him. Truth be told, Leon was actually very happy. He loved being a knight. He loved living in Camelot and he loved the constant onslaught of malcontented oddities it seemed to invite. He would be ready to defend the kingdoms and all her quirks, tooth and nail, as soon as he was bid to.

"Leon, Gwaine…I have a plan," said Arthur at last.

"It was right near sunrise and it looked like the Plotdevicius would come out victorious," started Gwaine tankard in his fist, a ring of women around his shoulders. Leon was sipping his mead thoughtfully, entertained by the dramatic retelling of the past night's events.

"...and then, just as the creature flew in for the second time, BAMN," Gwaine shouted slamming the tankard unto the table with emphasis. Arthur's plan was the usual plan: circle up and jab the creature swords until it relented. As usual this plan wasn't as effective as it seemed in the planning stage. "The creature took a bite at poor Sir Reese, got him right on the ear of all places." That it had, Leon recalled, and an awful lot of blood and mess that was. "Then this ray of sunlight—brighter than any flame or light had any business to be—shone as if from heavens themselves and distracted it. Your prince, with a deal of help from yours truly," said Gwaine flipping his hair back, "leapt for its face and poured the elixir right on its eyes…and ladies, did it get angry!"

"How angry was it, Sir Gwaine," purred a comely brunette from his side. Leon all but bit his lip off stifling his laughter. _Angry. Yes well..._ The beast was only angry enough to lunge at poor Reese's other ear before to turning to stone, falling over, and shattering into a thousand pieces as it met the cobblestone. It was rather anticlimactic really. He knew Gwaine and Arthur were anticipating a last triumphant stab at the beast, and even he was expecting a last burst of vicious magic or something. Still the beast was vanquished and only two men were injured. How Sir Meloncamp managed to fight with only three fingers on his sword hand and a set of broken ribs, Leon would never know. The man's leg cast would match his arm cast though, thought Leon bemused. He took another swig of mead. When he imagined that he could be on a boat somewhere, tying knots with his feet, or in some other, less eventful kingdom, he felt an overwhelming happiness that he was in Camelot. Plus, it seemed Arthur had forgotten all about his forced holiday. Just then the door to the tavern jingled and the mass of ruffled black hair appeared through the door. Leon waved him over.

"Merlin, I noticed that you and Gaius keep an awful lot of unlabeled bottles," started Leon satisfied beyond words with the day he'd had.

Fin!


End file.
